


witchcraft in your lips (the finding your way home remix)

by rainshaded



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Remix, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 20:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainshaded/pseuds/rainshaded
Summary: Agatha happens, again and again. Ada and Hecate find comfort in each other.





	witchcraft in your lips (the finding your way home remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomlistener](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/gifts).
  * Inspired by [witchcraft in your lips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231180) by [phantomlistener](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener). 

> The section headings are all quotes from phantomlistener's lovely fic.

_the deepest wards_

Agatha has made three visits to Cackle’s that Hecate is aware of by the time Hecate is twenty-five. Each one leaves the place feeling off-centre, _wrong_, tension in the air and in the dark looks Mrs Cackle and Miss Bat trade.

When she was a student, she relished the quiet routine of lantern duty, flying the five miles around the school at a time when no-one else was around. She’s taken to doing much the same now, when things are unsettled and suffocating on the ground. The sky’s a big place but it’s hardly empty.

Hecate balances on her broom with both arms outstretched, layer after layer of protective spells slipping through her fingers. She has no power over them but she enjoys encountering them, learning the shape of the magic of so many Cackles, feeling the history of the place sink into her bones. Most are just texture, echoes: others are quite distinct.

There’s one in particular that Hecate finds herself intrigued by, finds herself seeking out time and again. It lies beneath the surface, it’s been there for as long as Hecate has known, and yet, unlike the others, it feels... clean, and fresh. The others speak of the magic mortaring the bricks together, the dust spiralling in the sunlight in the library, the knowledge of generations and a long history. This one has the clarity of a single timeless moment, of a cool babbling river and the potential therein.

When Ada Cackle returns, Hecate is wary of her for a long while. With the same brown curls and blue eyes, she looks so much like Agatha that, upon first seeing her, dread sinks through Hecate as she anticipates the shouting. Then Alma bustles past her, plucks a leaf from the woman’s windswept hair—

“Oh, Ada, you look like you’ve been dragged through a tree backwards.”

“Lovely to see you too, Mother.”

—and Hecate becomes watchful. Ends up watching the brightness of Ada’s smile; the flare of her colourful wardrobe; the determination in her eyes. She stays wary long past the point where she realises whose magic had interested her so. Ada Cackle is a river indeed and if Hecate lets herself fall in, she will be swept away and may never rise again.

* * *

_should have done more_

“I can’t help feeling this is all my fault,” Ada frets, late at night after the ugly scenes are over and the castle is quiet. She rubs a finger along the rim of her cup. This is the calm after the storm: there is plenty of wreckage left behind. “If only I’d paid more attention, if only I'd _seen_, things needn't have gone this far.”

The weight of having been the one to bring this pain to Ada sits heavy on Hecate’s chest. While she cannot in any way bring herself to be sorry that Agatha has departed, she hates that it distresses Ada so.

“Maybe I should have done more for her, fought harder for her when we were younger... ” Ada sighs, her gaze turned inward. “Do you think I made her like this?”

“No,” Hecate states, and her firmness seems to startle Ada. “You did all you could. Agatha has made her own decisions. Anyone or anything shaped by you would have kindness as its key tenet. Like the girls, if they listen.”

She briefly worries that she’s overstepped, exposed herself, but Ada’s eyes on her are warmed by the smile that curls her mouth, the first in hours. Hecate tries to ignore how her heart flips at such regard.

“Of course,” Ada says, “as sole Headmistress, I am in need of a deputy.”

* * *

_could hardly bear it_

As Agatha bends to gloat over Ada-turned-snail, Hecate buries panic far down, cloaks herself in icy calm. Agatha assumes that Hecate sees the world as she does, that her loyalty to Ada is nothing but a ploy to secure her own position. She imagines she can buy her. Hecate can let her think that.

“May I be the first to offer my congratulations...Headmistress.” She bows.

“Hecate Hardbroom!” Miss Bat exclaims, sounding genuinely distressed. “After all Ada did for you.”

Either she is an accomplished actress or she thinks very little of Hecate’s character. Hecate does her best to ignore the pang this thought sends through her. If it is the latter, so much the better. If Miss Bat believes the lies flowing sweet and sharp like honey over Hecate’s tongue, so will Agatha. If the girls accept her callous dismissal of Ada’s worth at face value, so will Agatha.

“Agatha’s really evil,” Maud Spellbody says with absolute certain disgust, and Hecate briefly wonders if perhaps she and Ada never knew the full story of Agatha’s time here, back when Mavis Spellbody was a student.

“That is _not _for us to judge,” she says instead, pacing forward and turning her back on Agatha. “No witch may interfere in a Section Seven duel. For, once accepted to this school, you are all bound by the Witches’ Code.”

“Miss Hardbroom,” Agatha purrs, and it turns Hecate’s stomach, “I knew I could depend on you.”

“No member of staff or any pupil,” Hecate stresses the last two words as much as she dares, “will raise their hand against you. _We _are all bound by the Witches’ Code.”

She stares intently at Mildred, willing her to catch her meaning. The rules of this situation are very clear. She has not broken the Code since she was a child. That does _not_ mean there is nothing to be done.

Thank the magic in her blood, between them Mildred and Pendle resolve the situation and the cloud of billowing magic clears to reveal Ada, curled on the floor but herself once more. She looks up and Hecate bends, reaching for her.

“Ada.”

Ada takes her hands, gets to her feet. “It’s all right, Hecate,” she says gently, smiles like a summer’s day and Hecate can’t help but reflect it. “I’m fine.”

“’Course you are,” Hecate whispers—it had to come right; the thought of a world where she never sees Ada again can hardly be borne— and has to turn away to compose herself as Ada speaks to Mildred.

* * *

_her permanent shadow_

Hecate casts her spells with great focus and precision, scouring the west turret. The castle is surrounded by forest, after all: the bats will do very well there. If she concentrates on her task, she can try to forget. She has broken their rules, exposed them, _embarrassed _Ada. Her impassioned speech served only to worry the Great Wizard. Well. She had half-expected something like this for years, despite Ada’s promises to the contrary, so she can hardly be surprised it has finally come to pass.

The air shifts as someone transfers in but Hecate doesn’t look round, keeps staring into the corner and calculating the surface area. Her spell will have greater longevity if she crafts it correctly.

“Hecate.”

“Headmistress,” she acknowledges curtly, still doesn’t turn.

“What are you doing here?”

Hecate stiffens. Is she considered a failure in this as well? “Completing my assigned task. As requested.”

Ada approaches, stands at her side. “Oh, my dear. What has Agatha said to you?”

Hecate can’t help it; she turns. “Agatha?”

Ada has changed her clothes. Unless that wasn’t Ada.

Ada nods. “It seems she’s been running amok today. No-one at the display knew where you were so I was worried. My dear, please know—”

“How did it go?” Hecate interrupts. She cannot hear soft words, cannot trust in this yet.

“The display?” Ada blinks and adapts to the shift in conversation, evidently filing away whatever she would have said for later. “Not as Agatha hoped, I am pleased to say. Still, I have a great deal of explaining to do to the Great Wizard. Will you come with me?”

She holds out a hand. Hecate eyes it suspiciously but takes it anyway. The rush of magic that envelopes her is so familiar and _right _that her heart, desperate for comfort, is convinced then. When they appear by the castle walls, Hecate sees Agatha in Ada’s clothes, her shoulders slumped in defeat with the Great Wizard standing over her, and lets her head believe. She has been a fool.

“It was nothing, Ada,” she answers belatedly. Agatha is nothing; her words mean nothing.

Ada smiles at her, a small smile that says she doesn’t quite believe her, but the Great Wizard has turned and seen them and there is no time for anything else.

Hecate stays near to Ada for the rest of the day. She stands close enough to touch as law enforcement witches arrive to collect Agatha; hovers just behind her shoulder as Ada makes her explanations to the Great Wizard. Taking tea with the girls and the Great Wizard, Hecate steals sideways glances at Ada: as long as she is looking at her, she will not disappear again.

This illogic proves a comfort as they see the Great Wizard off, as they settle the girls after a day's excitement, as they spend an evening together full of neglected work and quiet assurances which stretches into night.

When the time comes to retire to bed, Hecate has to force herself to end their walk through the corridors in front of her door. She cannot spend every moment of her life at Ada's side, she knows. If nothing else, she has classes to teach: it is still term-time. (And she is a little tender from Agatha’s words, from the implied accusations, and she will not ask for more.)

“Goodnight.”

Ada's lips part and, for just a moment, she looks like she wants to argue. Instead she reaches for Hecate's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “In the morning, you can ask me how Pendle is. And if I don’t tell you he rolled all over my favourite jumper that morning, you’ll know it’s not me.”

Hecate nods. It’s an acceptable solution. She may not sleep tonight but tomorrow, after Ada proves she’s still her despite their separation, she will breathe easier.

Ada brings their joined hands up and for a moment Hecate thinks she might kiss it—in the corridor, in _public_—but instead she just covers it with her other hand and gives it a quick pat before moving off down the hallway.

* * *

_far more than your duty_

Hecate enters her classroom (through the _door_) and her gaze is instantly caught by an empty desk, the desk she always has a keen eye on these days.

"Maud Spellbody. Where is Maud Spellbody?" She scans the room. "And Enid Nightshade?" Fear, never far away in recent days, rises rapidly within her.

Bella Blackwood raises her hand slowly. "Ag—Miss Cackle wanted to see Maud."

A discovery spell tells her Maud is in the Headmistress’s office, Enid outside it. Hecate transfers straight to Ada's usurped office, heedless of the alarms ringing in her ears. She has no time. Whatever limits there were on Agatha’s behaviour during her last spell here, they are no more. Ada is trapped in her own portrait. Agatha is the elder daughter, the rightful headmistress, and she has Miss Gullet by her side, reinforcing her every cruelty. Maud Spellbody, daughter of Mavis and granddaughter of Mona, is caught in the middle of this and she is so terribly young, even younger than Mavis was. The least Hecate can do is provide a distraction, to draw Agatha’s malice towards herself.

To her relief, Maud is seemingly unharmed. Hecate brushes off Agatha’s reprimand with an insincere apology and a truthful explanation.

“I was looking for Maud.”

“They were going to turn me into a toilet brush!” Maud protests from her chair, anger and alarm in her voice.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Hecate says calmly, while wrapping her fingers tightly around the back of the chair and squeezing to the point of pain. “Maud is a good girl, who respects _authority_.” Crouched down to Maud’s level, she flicks her eyes significantly and repeatedly towards the portrait behind her and sees the realisation dawn on Maud’s face.

“You will set an example to the others, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Maud says slowly. Then, to Agatha, “Sorry, Miss Cackle.”

They are both dismissed by Agatha in short order. Closing the door awkwardly behind her, Hecate spies Maud and Enid at the end of the corridor, walking with their arms around each other and heads close together. She does not for a moment regret sending Mildred Hubble home—she'd do the same for all the girls if she could—but she is glad Maud Spellbody still has a friend here. The humiliation bubbles hot and sick within her, but better her than the girls: she consoles herself with that and the thought that she has achieved something here.

If the girls know that Ada has not fled, is not gone, there is hope.

* * *

_with earnest fervour_

There is so much to be done in the wake of Agatha’s chaotic reign, so much that still needs fixing. Yet, with Ada’s arms around her, all Hecate can do is cling to her in turn.

“We’re all safe, my dear,” Ada says, and they are holding each other so tightly Hecate can feel as well as hear her voice, “so what can be troubling you?”

Hecate chokes on remembered fear, pressing her face to Ada’s shoulder. Ada is soft and strong and solid in her arms, safe. _Weeks _she'd spent not knowing if she would ever have this again. The relief hits deep, sharp and broad, and she may drown in it. Her eyes well, blurring her vision and frustrating her as she pulls back: she so wants to see Ada in this moment. Then Ada stretches up to kiss her. It’s just a simple press of lips but the shock is electric, her mind and body both crying out—_but _term-time_/_oh_,_ _missed this, missed you_—and the latter wins. She sinks into Ada, warmth winding its way through her.

* * *

_next to you_

In the morning, Hecate sits up in bed, arms wrapped round her knees, and watches Ada finish getting ready for the day. Ada catches her eye in the mirror, smiles. Hecate smiles back. Ada was right: they needed this.

This is Ada’s particular brand of chaos: she encourages small indulgences, softens the edges, builds support around their structures. Agatha, by contrast, would rather blow those structures sky-high than tolerate any imposition. She had very nearly succeeded.

“Come on, slugabed,” Ada sing-songs, approaches the bed and holds out her hand. “We’ve got work to do.”

But not quite.

Hecate is dressed and ready for the day in the time it takes her to stand from the bed. “Indeed we have.” She takes Ada’s hand, raising a pointed eyebrow. “And some of us know how to make the most effective use of our time.” Slugabed indeed.

Ada’s still laughing as Hecate transfers them away.


End file.
